Time in a Bottle
by MissMarquin
Summary: Otabek's looked around enough to know, that this is where he wants to be forever. Oneshot.


_A/N: I'm old enough to remember the great Songfic purge of . While knowledge of the song 'Time in a Bottle', by Jim Croce isn't necessary to enjoy this oneshot, it does add a little bit of extra impact. If you so wish, please read the lyrics before reading this, or head over the A03 to find the full version- lyrics included. My username is the same. _

* * *

_**Time in a Bottle**_

* * *

Some days, Otabek just watches.

Most days, he smiles along, pulling Yuri to his side, laughing along with him, but some days he just watches instead. He watches the brilliant man before him, his hair glowing bright underneath the sunlight.

That day, Yuri gardens, and it's entertaining. Otabek remembers when Yuri had told him about trying it, and how he laughed at him. What an idea- Yuri covered head to toe in dirt. But that weekend he had woken up to Yuri tilling a spot in the yard, wiping an arm across his brow.

And now, months later, he weeds, pulling out the offending greenery that chokes his precious bell peppers.

Otabek thinks they taste a little bit like burnt hair, but he never complains, because they were brought to life by his husband's beautiful hands.

Yuri looks to him and waves. And Otabek waves back, his heart skipping a beat.

It didn't matter how many years it'd been or will be, his heart would always skip a beat. That was the power of Yuri's smile.

And every time he shot him one, Otabek saved it, packing it away for a rainy day.

* * *

Otabek wishes that he could turn back time. He wishes this every year, every time that they visit Yuri's grandfather.

He watches silently as Yuri bends over, pulling at the overgrown weeds that threaten the tombstone. "Fucking grave keeper," he hears Yuri curse harshly, "What's the point, if he doesn't do his fucking job?"

It isn't the job of the grave keeper to clean the graves, but Otabek doesn't mention this. Instead, he kneels by him, moving to help.

"Beka, you don't have to," Yuri whispers.

"Don't be silly, of course I do," Otabek replies.

"Grandpa's rolling over in his grave," Yuri says, sitting back on his heels once the site is clear. "He was such a neat freak."

"Grandpa doesn't care," Otabek says, "because he knows we'll always fix it."

Yuri is quiet for a long time, before he says, "I can't fix everything. I wasn't able to fix-"

Even if Yuri doesn't finish, Otabek knows. This is what he says every year. He's used to the regret that fills his face and Otabek frowns. Yuri always thinks this is his fault, that if they had just _noticed_, things would have turned out differently. Grandpa had moved to the States with them so they could get married, so they could be _happy_. The States hadn't agreed with him.

Otabek knows it wouldn't have made a difference, be it here or Russia.

And so, every year, this is what they do on Grandpa's birthday- they come and visit him.

Yuri is silent, his legs tucked underneath him, hands folded gently on his lap. Otabek pulls him to his side, pressing a kiss against his forehead, his hand combing through his hair. Yuri leans into him. He doesn't cry, but Otabek knows that tears threaten.

They won't ever fall, but they're right there, so close.

And if they ever do, Otabek will kiss those away too.

"Grandpa, I miss you," Yuri finally says. "But it's okay. Otabek takes care of me."

"Thank you," Otabek says to the grave. "For Yura." He reaches down, lacing their fingers together. Yuri squeezes back.

So they sit there, watching quietly. Remembering. Grandpa always liked him, Otabek thinks.

Finally, Yuri looks to him, a small smile across his face. It's sad and subdued, but it's full of love. Otabek brings his fingers to his lips and presses a kiss to them.

He'll always spend this day with his husband, he thinks. He'll always treasure it. Treasure Grandpa and those memories.

But most of all, Yuri.

* * *

Yuri's skin burns hot underneath his hands.

Otabek can't remember what the argument was even about, he's forgotten, as he slides his hand up Yuri's side, fingers pressing against the skin there. His thoughts are right here, on this one-of-a-kind man that sat before him. On the feel of his husband around his fingers, clenching and scorching hot.

Yuri is still probably angry, but he's also flushed red with want, his own hand reaching out and pressing against Otabek's chest, bracing his weight against him.

Life's too fucking short to stay mad at each other for very long, Otabek thinks, when he finally presses into the beautiful man above him. Yuri's breath hitches, before a long moan escapes, and Otabek is pretty fucking sure there isn't anything better in the entire world. He's hot and tight around him, and Otabek's hips stutter just a little bit before he presses upwards, his fingers tightening against Yuri's hips.

He's getting too old, he thinks, to make this position work effectively, but God above he tries. "_Yura,_" he groans, coaxing his partner to grind against him, trying to ignore the sting in his lower back at the strain.

It's not like Yuri is much younger, and that kind of freaks Otabek out. There's not enough time left for them, he thinks, there's never going to be enough time for this, _for them_.

His panic must have shown on his face, because Yuri pauses, looking at him. "_Beka_," he breathes, running his hand down Otabek's sweat-slicked chest. He's forgotten whatever they were fighting about too, his face full of concern as he regarded his husband. "Beka," he repeats, leaning over, pressing his nose into junction between Otabek's shoulder and neck. "What is it?" The words ghost across his skin, Yuri's breath warm.

Otabek's grip tightens, as he presses upwards again. Yuri keens, and he'll never get tired of it, of this. "There isn't enough time in the world," Otabek says as he shifts his hips. Yuri tries to meet the thrusts, but he's distracted by everything. "There isn't enough to time worship you."

"_Beka_," Yuri gasps, the movement of his hips tilted and jerky.

Otabek reaches up, tangling his fingers in the loose strands of his hair. They fall around his face like a curtain and the look like starlight in the dim light of the moon that shines in from their window.

He doesn't yank, but he pulls his face back down, his other hand finding the delicate curve of Yuri's face. There are wrinkles now, fine little lines around his mouth and eyes, but Otabek loves them, loves to trace them with his fingertips. "Even if we fight," he says as Yuri halts his movements again, trying to catch a breath, trying to stretch the moment for as long as he could. "You'll always be the one that I want to go through time with."

It's a stupid and cheesy line, but Yuri doesn't laugh. "_I love you_," he replies instead, breathlessly as he regards Otabek with wise eyes.

They hang there like that, the moment suspended as they kiss briefly. It's unhurried but passionate, full of love and Otabek can feel himself falling farther and farther. He falls more and more everyday, for this man. He'll fall forever, he's sure.

Finally, Yuri sits back. "We have plenty of time," he says, shifting his hips just so, grinding them down. The moan that he draws out of Otabek is sinful. "We have all time in the world," Yuri continues with, picking up the pace, arching over him with abandon.

It doesn't take much for them to topple over the edge, but when they do, it's fucking perfect, and it's all that Otabek has ever wanted. Heated skin flushed red, whispers and moans and the subtle pain of strained muscles. Laying back and basking in each others sweat-covered skin.

_All the time in the world_, Yuri had said.

He's laying on his side, and Otabek runs his fingertips across the sharp angle of his hipbone.

It seems like a promise.

* * *

"You're supposed to make a wish, Beka," Yuri says.

The candles flicker before him, and Otabek sighs. "There's nothing to wish for, Yura, I'm fucking ancient."

"You're turning fifty-five. That isn't ancient."

"My life is _over_." Otabek knows that he's rarely dramatic, but it's finally time for his mid-life crisis.

Cool fingers thread through his hair, scratching at the scalp, and Yuri leans over his shoulder. Otabek turns to meet his cheek with his lips, but Yuri beats him to it. He smells like mint and strawberries, and Otabek takes a deep breath, before pulling away.

"A wish, Beka," Yuri murmurs.

"Aren't you supposed to sing, or something?"

"You and I both know that isn't fucking happening. Decades of wooing you; I'm not about to ruin it with my tone-deaf voice."

Otabek chuckles at that. "You won't ruin anything," he says, but Yuri has already pulled away. "Hey, hey, c'mere." Otabek yanks him back and he falls gracefully into his lap. Immediately Yuri's arms slot around his neck loosely, and Otabek reaches up to brush a bang from his forehead.

He's cut it short this year, and after years of braiding it down his back, Otabek is still getting used to it.

He likes it though.

"A wish or not?" Yuri asks once more, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.

"Why should I wish for anything?" he hums, and Yuri cocks his head to the side.

"Why the fuck _wouldn't_ you?"

"There's nothing to wish for," he repeats. "All my wishes have already been answered by you."

Yuri swats at him, but doesn't say anything. In fact, he hugs him close, never wanting to let him go.

And Otabek holds him back, pressing a kiss to his lips as they forget all about the cake and its candles.

* * *

History often repeats, but it's never quite the same. Things often look familiar and they feel familiar, but there's always something different.

They've been here many times before, but Yuri is different. Lines weather his face attractively and there's silver sparkling along his gold-spun hair. It's still short, clipped at the nape of his neck.

Otabek's mouth still waters at the sight.

Yuri holds out his hand, searching and Otabek grabs it.

It's the first time that they've visited this place and Yuri hasn't broken down. It's the first time that he hasn't fallen to his knees, obsessively pulling at the weeds or scrubbing the stone until it was polished.

This time, he just looks down at the headstone, a gentle smile gracing his lips. This time, he looks content.

"Hey Grandpa," he finally says, and Otabek squeezes his hand. They wait, like he might answer, but the graveyard is silent.

They've lived a long life, Otabek thinks. A long and happy and _full_ life. He looks over to Yuri, and he doesn't regret one fucking bit of it, not a single argument or harsh word. Or the whispers against heated flesh in the dark of their bedroom.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay," Yuri says quietly. Otabek starts at that; those aren't his usual words. It's always been '_It's okay. Otabek takes care of me'_.

"I'm okay," Yuri repeats, "and I'm still taking care of Otabek."

The words are flipped and warmth spreads through him.

"Otabek is good," Yuri continues, "He's good, and so am I. We're _good_."

And that's all, Otabek realizes. That's all that Yuri wants to say, that he _needs_ to say. He's needed to say it for years, to stop apologizing, to stop feeling like this wasn't all of his fault.

He finally has.

Otabek pulls at him and Yuri's arms find their way around his neck. He's taller, he's always been taller, and Yuri leans over to press his lips against Otabek's forehead. It's silly how the moment Otabek thinks he couldn't love the man more than he already does, he's proven wrong.

Yuri hums at the closeness, before pulling away again. He turns back towards the grave, leaning against Otabek as his arm wraps around his shoulder. Otabek's arm slides around his waist and they just stand there, watching.

"I'm proud of you, Yura," Otabek says.

"Yeah, me too," Yuri replies.

"It's taken a long time for us to get here."

Yuri nods. "What is that old saying? That the journey is worth it?"

"Was it?" Otabek already knows the answer, but sometimes it's nice to hear it aloud.

Like always, Yuri doesn't disappoint. "Would I fucking be here if it wasn't?"

No, he wouldn't. They've had their ups and downs and their near-ends, but he is still _here_ and that's the important part. Otabek's grip on him tightens and Yuri leans over to press one more kiss to the side of his head.

"But you know what?" Yuri says his lips still against Otabek's hairline. "I don't regret it. I wouldn't fucking change us for the world. We're perfect, you know. Everything is fucking _perfect_."

Yuri is right. Otabek pulls his hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "Hey, old man," Yuri murmurs, his eyes narrowing into mischievous slits. "Let's get out of here."

"And leave Grandpa?" Otabek asks, his brow raised.

"He's not going anywhere. Don't you want to go scar some children by our _gross old person love_?"

Yes, one hundred thousand times, _yes_. Which is what he tells Yuri, his hands sliding up his sides, ghosting the fabric of his shirt.

_Everything has always been you_, Otabek thinks, as he takes Yuri's hand. His husband pulls him along as he blindly follows. As they leave Grandpa behind.

He's looked around enough to know that this is where he wants to be forever.

And they have all the fucking time in the world.


End file.
